


Floorboards

by Tattered_Dreams



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: AU, Cuddling, Gen, M/M, another character, is relevant, newtmas - Freeform, so just, tags will give it away, um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 14:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14896607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tattered_Dreams/pseuds/Tattered_Dreams
Summary: -Annoyingly, I kind of think this is more fun to read without actually knowing what it is. So its here if you feel like taking a chance on it and thank you to those who do-Its just fluff. newtmas au fluff.





	Floorboards

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry that you know nothing at this point. I hope anyone who's reading this far enjoys. I am totally open to feedback though and if people feel this fic would be better with a proper summary and tags I'm more than happy to amend it.

Thomas hears the front door click shut from down the hall even though the room is full of the rolling sound of explosions.

This is a talent he didn’t think he’d develop, despite what he was told. Turns out he was wrong.

They’ve been curled up together for hours now, tucked into the corner of the couch in deep shadow. At the noise, Newt’s head drops forward, nuzzling into Thomas’ neck, fingers tracing deceptively idle patterns over the toned plane of his stomach, playing with the grooves of muscle in a way that treads a line on intent. Thomas feels Newt brush a kiss over the side of his throat where his pulse beats, Newt’s mouth curving into a wry smirk against his skin, easily concealed in the dark.

Thomas breathes a laugh even as his heart skips under the dual caress.

He can hear footsteps very carefully tracking down the hallway, edging past where the enormous potted cactus was left by the umbrella stand hours earlier. They hadn’t gotten around to moving that – Thomas forgot about it in all honesty, which is quite a feat for a succulent plant taller than he is – but that creaky floorboard isn’t exactly in a direct route from the door and he’s reminded that it was left there.

There’s time to find it a home tomorrow.

For now, the footsteps are heading for the stairs and making a distinct effort to be as quiet as possible.

Newt always had said that keeping the original wood flooring in the hallway was a good idea, and now the years of scuff marks and slipping in socks is paying off. Carpet is good at muffling sound; it’s come in useful in other parts of the old house, but the floorboards creak. In fairness, the late afternoon sunlight spilling through the frosted glass either side of the front door and throwing golden patterns onto the natural wood grain had attracted them to the house to begin with. Or, specifically, Newt’s eyes lighting up with serenity and inspiration at that time in the afternoon when he sees it had attracted Thomas. Both apply.

But that time in the afternoon has long gone.

One movie turned into three and as the clock – barely visible on the wall – ticks slowly past one in the morning, this last one is careering towards the final act. Another explosion flashes on the screen, the sound of it resonating through the surrounding speakers, a deep guttural roll. The burning orange and red light of the inferno flares in the shadowed living room, throwing everything under a heady glow.

Thomas stretches in Newt’s hold to reach for the remote and pause the film on the vivid moment of destruction. The silence crashes down on them as the TV freezes and Thomas sinks back into the curve of Newt’s chest. He tucks into the space there where he can feel Newt’s heartbeat thump steady and certain into his back through the thin fabric of his Henley.

Another floorboard groans quietly beyond the peaceful, stolen moment that cocoons the living room, the careful noise tracking movements of failed stealth towards the staircase. Newt ducks again and Thomas turns just enough to kiss the side of his head lazily.

“Interesting time to be getting home,” Newt says with entirely pointed casualness, cuddling Thomas even closer.

The footsteps in the hall stop dead.

Thomas tries to bite back his smile, pressing his thumb into the side of Newt’s good knee in teasing support.  _ nicely done _ . Teeth graze delicately at the side of his throat in response and Thomas’ breath catches in his lungs; wanting and amusement curling into each other.

There’s a squeak and then the footsteps resume; now scuffing on the floorboards without a care, heading straight their way.

Newt’s fingers drum a melodramatic war-beat into Thomas’ waist, staccato rhythm warm on his skin under his shirt.

The living room door flies open a moment later and there, framed in the gap with the pitch black hallway beyond, is a dark-haired sixteen year old boy with energy-bright eyes looking slightly out of breath and holding a watermelon.

Thomas blinks. And then he has to hurriedly muffle his burst of laughter into Newt’s shoulder.

Newt’s fingers squeeze over Thomas’ hip which helps to dry up his amusement even if it doesn’t exactly help him focus.

“Adam,” Newt says, slowly, his voice light but laced with a certain element of ‘ _ everything you say now had better be the truth’ _ . “Why do you have a watermelon?”

Thomas frowns. “Hey – you were meant to be the one who asked ‘what time do you call this?’”

Adam shoots a wary glance down at the huge fruit tucked under his arm and winces. Even Thomas can admit that looks an awful lot like his own expression when he’s accused of doing something reckless with no good reason yet again.

“It…was a science experiment?” Adam offers haltingly. He appears to decide to actually follow through with this excuse only after he’s already said it, nodding to himself as the words hang, suspended in the dark.

“Was it,” Newt says flatly. It’s not a question. He tips his head down to look at Thomas, who honestly doesn’t feel that this conversation is a good enough reason to stop using Newt as a personal pillow. “Do we believe him?”

“I don’t,” Thomas shrugs, now rubbing his thumb in circles on the inside of Newt’s knee. He has to bite the inside of his cheek as he feels Newt shift underneath him and then pinch warningly at his hip.

In the doorway, Adam rolls his eyes.

“I don’t need to see this,” he says, hefting the watermelon up. “Can you lecture me in the morning?”

Newt sniggers. “Absolutely.”

“One last thing,” Thomas quickly interjects.

Adam hesitates, already half turned around. His eyes narrow, and that – that is distinctly Newt. “What’s that?” he asks slowly.

“Where did you even  _ get _ a watermelon?”

Adam gives them both a defiant look. “Where did  _ you _ get a cactus?”

“Zart,” Newt says, deadpan. “It’s a teenager alert system.”

Adam scoffs, even as a tiny smile pulls at his mouth. He knows he’s not in real trouble. Thomas wonders absently if that should be a concern – he is two hours later than they agreed on after all – but he decides that right now, this one can probably slide. They know where he was, and if the worst thing he’s brought home is a watermelon, then this is a pretty good going.

“Your turn,” Thomas says, nodding towards the watermelon in question. The motion lets Newt’s head drop back down, a light kiss pressing onto his shoulder.

“The grocery store,” Adam supplies dutifully even as he rolls his eyes to the ceiling again. “Kendra picked it out.”

Thomas makes a side note to ask Brenda and Gally what on earth their daughter even does in her spare time. Then again; Zart did literally ask them to watch his cactus while he went on a botany course so perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t so bad.

Adam is two hours late but he and his friends only raided a grocery store for health food and there have been no phone calls of complaint. There was only the one time that Minho called when he was tending bar at his place to say Adam had somehow been involved in causing a power outage so really…one phone call is a lot better than the numerous ones that Thomas, Newt and Minho incurred during their adolescence.

Not that they’re going to be sharing that part.

There are probably some things best kept from Adam until he’s twenty one. Maybe longer.

“Were you hungry?” Thomas asks instead, knowing it won’t be taken seriously.

“Night,” Adam says pointedly, proving him right and taking another step into the hall.

“Last question,” Newt calls.

There’s a groan and he reappears, expression dry. “Yes?”

Newt’s features soften in response and Thomas inhales slowly, absorbing the moment; the silent stillness of the house, the wash of golden colour that pours from the frozen TV. There’s the faint ticking of the wall clock, the deep warmth of the couch and the marks of a shared life in every corner, shadowed in the lateness of the night. And their son, stood in the doorway, the tiniest fraction wary but mostly impatient.

“Did you have a good time?” Newt asks.

Adam’s expression flickers, and then a bashful smile tugs at his mouth until it reaches his eyes and lights them up, his shoulders curving forward.

“Yeah. Yeah it was awesome,” he admits. “Thanks, Dad. Night.”

“Night, Kid,” Thomas calls as Adam pulls the door across again.

He hesitates, considering the copper handle for just the span of a heartbeat. They told him that closed doors should be respected as a locked one, something that goes both ways, so they try to leave them at least a fraction ajar most of the time.

But right now Adam shakes himself and clicks it firmly closed.

Thomas laughs under his breath, Newt shaking against him with shared mirth as they hear the teenager starting for the stairs.

They creak as he climbs up them, and then the landing groans as he tracks across to his room. That door clicks shut as well and finally the house is quiet again.

Thomas considers the remote, still in his hand, before tossing it down on the cushions. They’d been watching to pass the time waiting for Adam to get home, and now that he is, any interest he might have had in the movie has gone, snuffed right out.

The late hour sinks into his bloodstream like a heady drug. Newt curls closer around him, and when his mouth opens over Thomas’ pulse this time, there’s no mistaking his intent.

“We have a teenager upstairs,” Thomas points out on an exhale, smirking, yielding to the pulling sensation at his throat by tilting his head out of the way. His blood runs hot, nerves firing with arcs of vivid kinetic energy and his fingers squeeze around Newt’s knee again. The reminder was weak, already wildly unconcerned.

“So play the movie again,” Newt suggests into his skin. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how we got away with this when he was three.”

He definitely hasn’t.

Thomas reaches for the remote yet again. The movie resumes mid explosion, the rumble of it rocking straight through the room loud enough to drown out almost everything but their own heartbeats, pulsing faster in tandem.

Still.

He turns the volume up just in case.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so.
> 
> This entire thing was a total accident. Im not usually a fan of kid fics personally but I dont really see much of newtmas parenting a teenager - so many kid fics are looking at children a lot younger, so this dynamic specifically intrigued me. Its unplanned, pretty plotless and just for kicks.
> 
> The name Adam just came to mind and somehow seemed to fit. The same goees for Kendra.
> 
> I have more background info worked out in my head about this AU world but so much is still quite vague. If anyone is interested, random other drabbles from this could follow...
> 
> And do tell me if you think it needs proper signposting or if you enjoyed finding out on the way. Thanks to anyone who did read and enjoy


End file.
